Dead Ringer
by MacMhuirich
Summary: A Royal Navy Vessel berths in Norfolk, VA. The NCIS-team are in for a big surprise when they meet the HMS Devon's XO.  Warning: season 9 spoilers!
1. Chapter 1:  Meeting McGee

**Chapter 1****: Meeting McGee**

**NAVSTA Norfolk**

In the pre-dawn mist of this promising July morning, the silhouette of a ship slid into view from around Sewells Point and silently and smoothly approached the world's largest naval base.

If one stood on the quayside and listened for it, one could just make out the shrill calls of a bosun's whistle, interspersed with muted voices relaying commands to prepare for docking.

In the flat calm of the Hampton Roads, the frigate's passage into the harbor was smooth. By the time the mist had cleared enough for the sun to shed ever shifting patterns of light on the Chesapeake Bay waters, she was expertly brought alongside her designated berth at one of the 14 piers.

Standing on the bridge, her captain could easily be mistaken for a statue – his stance was tall, proud and very erect, feet planted a little apart on the deck and both hands crossed at the back. His second in command, whose clear green eyes missed nothing, passed on instructions through his portable.

The decks were busy with sailors installing the gangplank and taking the mooring lines ashore to belay them on the bollards, thus securing the ship.

- -.-. -. . .

Two immaculately dressed naval officers strode slowly, yet deliberately along the Hampton Boulevard towards the Naval Station Pass and Identification Office.

"Really, Tom. What's wrong with this Open-Ship? What better way to recruit people for a naval career than an open event at the Harborfest?"

The tall officer gave a sigh and rolled his eyes.

"Wake up, Jago. This is America. Remember we just crossed the Atlantic? Hardly the place to recruit for the Royal Navy, wouldn't you think?"

"Oh come now, Tom. The Boston Tea Party has long been forgotten. No hard feelings between our friends from our former colonies and our humble kingdom." Jago Pascoe grinned at the faces his companion made. "In fact, I was speaking for the Navy in general. Where's the difference with our very own Navy from that damp, foggy island, nor-nor-east of Ushant? Eh? I just wanted to say it's a good idea to warm younkers to a life at sea."

"Warm..." Tom's eyes became momentarily unfocused and he involuntarily shivered, which was somehow off, given as this was a hot sunny day.

The other officer gave his friend a concerned look.

"Is that flu still playing up? I thought you'd beat it."

"I did, Jago." Another sigh. "It's just that... Oh, never mind."

They walked on in silence until they reached the ID office.

"Okay. I'm going in to fix those base passes. Give me..." He checked his watch. "... half an hour. No. Make it an hour. That should do. You never know there's a queue."

"Super. I'll meet you here, then. See you."

They separated.

Thirty-five minutes later, Tom stepped out of the dark, stuffy building and into the sunshine, squinting against the glare.

He checked for the time and found he still had some left to go and get some information on public transport. The ship was going to stay in Norfolk for some time and he had the intention of making good use of it by spending a day, or more, in Washington. He smiled as he looked forward to playing the tourist.

Tom took a deep breath and started walking.

He didn't get very far.

As he neared the corner of an alley, he stopped to check the time-table at a bus stop and, before he could react, hands had gripped him from behind and rudely pulled him back into the alley. This sudden assault caused him to stumble backwards.

"What the...Mmpff..."

Anything he might have wanted to say, was brutally cut off by a nasty kick in his abdomen which made him double up as his midriff contracted, expelling all air from his lungs.

Between the gasping and gagging, he tried to get a look at his assailants, but they never gave him a chance as they landed blow upon painful blow upon him. He struggled to stay on his feet. As long as he could do this, he stood a fighting chance to get out of the alley and into the open, public street. However, it was a losing battle. Any weak attempt on his part to stave off some of the punches proved fruitless. He couldn't think straight because of the incessant kicking. They made certain to cause him as much pain as possible in every part of his lithe body.

By now, he was curled up on his side, knees drawn up, arms crossed and protecting his head and chest. Suddenly, he saw his chance and he was able to give one vicious kick with his leg which had one thug distracted enough to miss another hit to his side. And then, it was over. Something solid connected with his head making it explode and the whole world receded into an empty blackness.

**- -.-. -. . .**

**NCIS HQ, Washington DC**

"Gas up the truck, McGee. We're goin' to Norfolk. Tony, Ziva – you both check out the victim at Bethesda."

Ziva and Tony, geared up in record time, hurried from behind their desks and followed Gibbs to the elevator.

Their youngest teammate...was still glued to his screen, his fingers leading a life of their own as they darted across his keyboard. He was totally oblivious to what happened beyond his own little world. To the others, when he was in that hyper absorbed state, it was freaky to behold.

Now, as they stood in 'Gibbs' office, his friends looked askance at Gibbs, waiting for his reaction. The team leader's eyes briefly crossed theirs as he emitted an aggravated sigh before raising his voice.

"McGEE! Today?"

Now that, agent McGee had heard. His reaction to this loud hail was instantaneous and amusing to watch. He looked up owlishly as if he only just awoke from a dream and his eyes opened wide at seeing the rest of his team waiting for him in the elevator car.

"Oh!"

Shamefaced, he scrambled to his feet, slung his back pack over his shoulder and jogged over to the others, bearing various looks from semi-bored, smirking to irritated, which made him blush even more than he was.

"Sorry..." he mumbled, as the doors closed.

*thwack*

On the ride down to the garage, Gibbs pushed a slip of paper into Tony's hand, holding the victim's name and other information.

Tony skimmed through the words on the document.

"What the...?" He exclaimed, looking up at Gibbs and then McGee, passing the paper to Ziva who'd been craning her neck to read for herself.

Gibbs grinned at both agent's flabbergasted faces. McGee, needless to say, had no clue, and, no surprise there either, his expression was one big question mark.

"There are more maids than Malkin, and more men than Michael." Gibbs deadpanned.

"Huh?" Tim frowned at the blank faces that met him.

"Never heard the expression, but its gist is clear." Tony mumbled.

"Gimmie that." McGee snagged the document hanging from Ziva's hand, but Gibbs intercepted him by grabbing his wrist and the paper just as the elevator doors opened.

"C'mon, Elf Lord. We got a crime scene to inspect and interviews to conduct."

He let go of Tim's hand and gave him a little push in the back, propelling the young agent towards the sedan. "You drive, Tim."

**- -.-. -. . .**

**Bethesda Naval Hospital**

Ziva and Tony entered the ER and, after having flicked their Id's and stated their business, they were led to a closed off cubicle where an impossibly young doctor was still occupied assessing his patient's condition.

As they drew nearer, their reactions were almost comical to behold as they abruptly stopped in their tracks.

Ziva's breath hitched and she blinked in surprise when her gaze fell on the motionless and bloody figure occupying the bed.

It had nothing to do with the bruising that covered most of the man's face and torso. His clothes had been taken off. These would be taken to NCIS for examination. Most of the blood had been cleared away and he had been attached to an IV line. His right wrist lay immobilized beside him.

Had they not left their co-worker with their boss less than an hour ago, or already learned the assault victim's name, they'd have sworn it was their friend lying so still and hurt in that bed.

Now, as they'd got over the worst of this shock, they observed the little details that reassured them this was a different man. For starters, his hair was a more flax color. He also sported a small scar just above his left eye-brow, whereas Tim had this long one on his right cheek.

It was slightly disconcerting to Tony and Ziva and they simply couldn't stop staring at the unconscious man.

A moan brought them out of their trances.

He was coming around, blinking his eyes which were disturbingly similar to their friend's.

The physician shone a light in the man's eyes, checking for a reaction of the pupils, meanwhile asking questions.

"Do you know where you are, sir?"

"...Hospital?"

"Good. What day are we?"

The man blinked a couple of times before replying.

"Eh... The 10th of July? Yes."

"Can you tell us your name, sir?"

"Tom. Tomas McGee." His speech was a little slurred.

"Hmm. What's your birthdate?"

"...15...November '78"

Tony and Ziva started at that statement. This could no longer be a coincidence. Something really hinky was going on, here. It was bad enough to see this English clone of Timothy McGee and not only in looks, but also in name. And now this stranger even shared the same birthday?

"No way, buddy," Tony broke in. "In a moment you're going to tell us you're born in Bethesda, too?"

The man squinted at the senior agent and when he replied, he sounded more than just a little baffled.

"How did you know that?"

"Jeez!" Tony exclaimed unbelievably. "This is some sick joke."

"Where do you live?" Ziva wanted to know.

"Uhm... No Man's Land."

Now Tony burst out laughing.

"You know, McGoo? That's hilarious! No man's land? Where did you get that from?"

The man frowned and was getting increasingly annoyed with the strange situation. He was hurting all over, he had a whopping headache, he'd been mugged, for the love of God! And now here was this...this...buffoon making fun of him? McGOO? Oh for crying out loud!

There was no way he was going to stay a second longer in this madhouse. So, with a painful grimace, he swung his lanky legs over the side of his bed - or at least, he tried to. The doctor, however, was quick to stall his movement and gently, yet firmly, pushed him back down and continued his examination.

The doctor palpated his abdomen. "Does this hurt?"

A moan was the man's only response.

"And here?" The doctor's fingers had moved to his chest.

Definitely a wince, this time. "Aw! Yes! Of course it does hurt!" He hissed.

The doctor, who'd been listening with amused interest to this odd conversation, removed the BP cuff and left the cubicle.

"How did you just call me?" Tomas McGee asked dangerously soft.

"What? Oh! McGooooo...mpfh..." Ziva's elbow in his side stopped any further embarrassing comments.

"It is...an inside joke... We have...a friend who shares the same family name as you. McGee." Ziva hastened to explain.

"Of course." Lt. Cdr. McGee muttered, closing his eyes. He was absolutely fagged and these...officers...weren't really helpful. He was not a little miffed by the way the male agent had treated him.

"Right." Tony started, feeling how he'd lost control. He had to take up the reins again. But, darn!, the man looked like Probie's spitting image! A deep breath and he was fully in command again.

"Can you remember what happened..." There was the slightest hesitation. "..., Sir?"

Lt. Cdr. McGee eyed him warily; even if one lid was so swollen he could barely see through it.

"Of course. I'm not an amnesiac."

Tony sighed resignedly.

"We merely want to establish which events lead up to the attack and in how far you remember the assault itself."

"Hmm..." McGee replied unenthusiastically. His eyes fell closed again.

"Let's start with the attack. Any idea who they were? Why you were attacked?"

McGee lifted his right arm to rest it over his eyes but winced at the painful contact and quickly lay it alongside again. He was taking quick, shallow breaths; an indication of the pain he was suffering.

"I...I don't know those men."

"How many?"

"Three...? Four? No... Three... I think... I don't know." He was fading, they noticed. His speech became more slurred and slow and they could see from the clammy and pale face that he was not feeling too good.

The doctor returned with a nurse.

"Lieutenant Commander McGee?"

His eyes opened, but only briefly.

"We'll take you for a CT scan to rule out anything more serious."

"How long? When c'n I go back to m' ship?" McGee was nearly out again. Another moan escaped from his lips.

"We'll keep you overnight, at least. For observation and some neuro checks."

The doctor's reply had been more to inform the agents of the patient's condition than for Lt. Cdr. McGee's own benefit who could no longer hear, anyway.

"At least?" Ziva asked.

The ER doctor watched the orderly wheel the bed out of the cubicle before regarding her calmly.

"Unless the scan will reveal other, internal injuries. Depending. In that case, his stay with us will be prolonged."

He wearily rubbed his brow before adding: "Besides, the chest pain may well be the result of some cracked or broken ribs. He'll be placed on the heart monitor, too."

Ziva and Tony followed the gurney as it was rolled inside the elevator and out of sight as the doors slid closed.

They went to the waiting room.


	2. Chapter 2: Who's Who?

**Chapter 2****: Who's Who?**

**NAVSTA Norfolk**

Meanwhile, Gibbs and McGee had arrived at the cordoned off crime scene and, after having shown their Id's at the officer stationed there, they ducked under the tape.

While Gibbs went to speak with the police officer who'd been first on the scene and secured the area, Tim sketched the scene, taking measurements and triangulating what looked like evidentiary items. When Gibbs joined Tim, they both continued processing the area in silence. Gibbs collected evidence with the utmost care while Tim took photographs to document the items before they were bagged and tagged. After a while, Gibbs left McGee to his own capable devices to speak the only witness who had remained on the site.

He checked the preliminary notes taken by the local officer he'd interviewed.

"Okay. Petty Officer Patterson..."

"I've already been interrogated by the other co...officers. What more can I add? I don't see..."

"Doesn't matter. I'd still like to hear it in your own words. So, just tell me what you saw."

"Okay. I'd just left the Benedict Arnold – that's our ship - and walked down to the bus stop when I noticed some commotion in the alley. Not much I could see, because the fight was going on behind a dumpster. Anyway, I went to check it out, thinking it were some stupid drunks. You'd be surprised what sailors would do to get a wet every time they make a landfall. But I'm not like that. So I cried out asking what was going on there but they bolted. When I rounded the container, I found one of the English officers from one of the visiting ships. Didn't look his best, I can tell you. He'd taken quite a beating. There was blood everywhere." He shook his head.

"Did you get a good look at the perps?"

"Sorry, no.. Or wait a minute. One was hurrying up another bloke. His accent was foreign. Weird accent. Damn' never seen this before. Not here on the base, anyways."

"Did you understand anything of what was said?"

"Nope. When they saw me, they just left the man and took off."

"Would you be able to recognize them?"

The man scratched the back of his head as he tried to remember details.

"I didn't see their faces. But I did notice one of the attackers adapting a rather weird shuffling gait and leaning on another for support. So our man must've put up quite a struggle.

"Never mind. We'll come back to that later. So what happened after they made their escape?"

"I went to the injured man. He was pretty much out of it. Bleeding from his nose and mouth. Unconscious, of course. Oh and his breathing was a bit rattly, if you know what I mean. Must be from all that blood running down his throat... Anyway, I called 911 straightaway."

He added as an afterthought. "By the way: how is he doing?"

"He's being treated. That's all we know for now."

Thanking the man and taking care of having his details for further questioning, Gibbs walked back to McGee who appeared to be just about to finish sketching the crime scene.

Once Tim was done, he collected his things and he and Gibbs made their way to the British man-o-war.

Gibbs walked up the gangplank followed by McGee. The second McGee planted his foot on deck, the Devon's crew stood to attention. As soon as the two NCIS agents flashed their badges, there was an awkward shifting along the ranks as the sailors looked questioningly at one another and back at the two men in NCIS wind breakers and swoop caps.

An officer broke through the lines and slowly approached Gibbs and McGee, his gaze never leaving Tim's face.

His eyes shifted from McGee to Gibbs and back again, before finally settling on Gibbs to whom he extended his hand. Gibbs shook the officer's hand and was about to address the other man when the officer superseded him with the introduction.

"Gentlemen. Welcome on board. I'm Commander Jean-Luc Crozier. I presume you're here with some questions regarding my Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander McGee?"

"You presume that right, Sir."

"In which case I beg you to follow me below decks where we can discuss this in more private surroundings."

Throughout the exchange, McGee had noticed the curious glances the crew gave him and he felt his cheeks becoming flushed as he wondered what was going on.

"McGee?" Gibbs called back at him when he didn't move.

He still felt their gazes in his neck and the muted conversations that had started as soon as they prepared to leave the deck.

The agents followed the officer through a door, stepping over the coaming and down a gangway into the belly of the ship till they found themselves into a relatively comfortable wardroom.

"Pray, take a seat. At the table or on the couch, whichever you choose. We can offer you refreshments, unless...you'd rather like some coffee? Tea?"

A steward walked and after closing the door behind him, stood to attention, patiently waiting till his services were needed, all the while covertly watching the younger NCIS agent.

"Coffee for me, please." Gibbs answered. "McGee? You?"

"Not for me, thanks. Some water will do," he addressed the steward as he sat down on the couch next to his boss and took out his notebook.

Commander Crozier sat down on one of the smaller sofas facing the agents.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. "So, how is...Lt. Cdr. McGee? Any news, yet?"

"He's being treated for his injuries. That's all we know for the time being. What can you tell us about your XO? As his CO, how do you see the relationships between the crew and Lt. Cdr. McGee?

Crozier leaned back in his seat and regarded Tim with some curiosity before starting off with a question of his own.

"Begging your pardon, Sir..."

"Agent McGee." Gibbs corrected with a patient smile.

"Agent...McGee it is, then. I don't know if you've noticed the ship's company's perusal, but, I can't help but observe a striking resemblance between you and my CO. And you sharing the same name... It seems too much of a coincidence, if you know what I mean. Are you, by any chance, related?"

As if he hadn't noticed! McGee shifted uncomfortably and looked at Gibbs, who nodded.

"Not that I'm aware of, Sir."

"Of course not. I simply wondered. Still, it's...uncanny... I know the man so well, by now, and now..." He shrugged and brushed the doppelganger topic aside to bear down on the issue at hand.

"Tomas McGee, now. He's my right hand. A very competent officer – one of unusual ability if I may say so. I'm honoured to have such a brilliant mind for my second in command. But," he leaned forward to take sip of his coffee, "he won't be my XO for much longer."

Gibbs perched up at this.

"Why is that? Something happened?"

The officer laughed at Gibbs' slightly alarmed look. Somehow, if McGee's double was anything like the young agent, it was rather doubtful he'd be forced off the ship in the way of a disciplinary action.

"Good Lord! No! It's nothing dramatic...except for me, that is. I can sleep on both ears when he's in command. Stands to reason I'll miss him when he gets his promotion. Look here. As you may know or not, but these old horses, will be gradually replaced by the new Type 26 frigates, the first of which will be launched from the shipbuilding yard in the course of next year. Scuttlebutt has it that McGee, soon to be Commander McGee, will be offered the command of that ship. This is quite exceptional, but you should realise he's sans pareil. Don't be taken in by his shy demeanour." He outright laughed at that. "He's Admiral Chygwidden's golden boy. The Admiral won't leave Tomas off his radar. And he's worth it."

"Such...interest...he must have some enemies? Others, maybe more experienced officers, who resent such...blatant preferential treatment?"

"Oh, definitely. I can name quite a few, in fact."

"Could you help us with some names, Sir, as well as elaborate the...eh...reasons...if there are any..." Tim asked, blushing. All this talk about his 'look-alike' had him fidgeting with increasing discomfort.

"I could," he frowned, "but... Why, surely you don't think...any of them to be involved? I don't really see any of them go to such lengths! This is the Royal Navy you are talking about. We're honourable men, serving Queen and Country. It's like one big family, really."

"We only need to check everything out. Any threat that's been addressed to an assault victim should be carefully examined and must be considered as such until the contrary is proved." McGee pointed out.

"Of course. I understand. Would it be okay if I gave you such a list by...say, as soon as I can. I'll see to it."

"Fair enough. Um...The local police did give us a name...a...Lieutenant Jago Pascoe?"

"Yes, our navigation officer. Surely he's no threat to my XO?" Commander Crozier's reaction was one of genuine disbelief.

McGee hastened to reassure him. "No. We didn't mean you to take it that way. He was asking questions at the crime scene, and offered his cooperation, we need to follow-up on any information we've been given."

He quickly checked his notes.

"According to the officer first at the crime scene, Lieutenant Jago Pascoe arrived shortly after the Lt. Cdr. had been transported to the Naval Hospital. Said they'd both left the ship for errands, splitting up to go separate ways and meet up again to return to the ship. Of course he was concerned his superior didn't show up."

"We're only interested in his relationship with the victim." Gibbs added.

"Ah, in that case. You had me worried, there. Navigation Officer Lt. Jago Pascoe is a good man. I can vouch for him. Both have been friends for quite a while. They hail from the same part of the country, and, well, Cornishmen – that's what they are - stick together, if you know what I mean."

"Lt. Jago Pascoe is older than Lt. Cdr. McGee, isn't he?" Tim brought up.

"He is. Let's say Lt. Pascoe had a late calling. Eh... Are you quite alright, Sir?" Cdr. Crozier suddenly enquired after McGee.

"Hm...I'm fine. Thanks...thank you...Sir... But, eh...could I use the head, please?"

Gibbs smirked as Tim fairly thrust his notes on the couch he'd just vacated and dashed for the door.

"Motion sickness... A delicate stomach, my man." He explained.

This remark earned him a bemused look from Commander Crozier.

"How peculiar. The same applies to Tomas. It's common knowledge he's prone to seasickness."

"How so? Shouldn't he be used to the ship's motions after all this time?"

"Let me explain it this way: he's always sick as a dog after a long spell ashore. Takes him days to adjust. So he needs his Stugeron – that's...sea sickness medication – until he gets his sea legs back. He's not unique, you know? Not that the pills make him totally immune. He still feels out of sorts and keeps himself busy which helps him to ignore the inconvenience as best as he can. The first days, you can actually see him lose weight. Landlubbers find it hard to believe, but even Lord Nelson suffered from this condition."

He laughed.

"Seems like your agent has more in common with my officer."

Gibbs regarded the other man pensively but then a smile slowly spread across his face and an amused chuckle built in his throat. If ever there was a more freaky situation than this one, he'd certainly have to spend at least a week thinking of one.

Fancy this: what were the odds of finding two men living at opposite sides of the Atlantic being exact copies not only in appearance, but also in character?

Gibbs shook his head at that, thinking this was the strangest case in all his years at NCIS. What was more: he had this all consuming gut feeling telling him that the bottom of this case was to be found in some, as yet, hidden and essential part of these clones' past.

Then, he was grave again, and, with a pensive look, he picked up the notebook Tim had so hastily left on the couch, and ran his finger over the documented initial statements and McGee's precise additions. So, how best could he plan the course of this investigation?


	3. Chapter 3: McBarfbag? Please Not Again!

**Chapter 3****: McBarfbag? Please. Not Again!**

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews: it's so nice to get some. :) **

**And now this wee note for those who believe I'm writing a tie-in with JAG: I'm not. However, I did enjoy that TV show that gave us NCIS!  
><strong>

**The name Chygwidden is Cornish - I simply thought it a nice coincidence (and a tribute to JAG) to have an admiral of that name in the RN. And since I have my character Tomas McGee (note the - also - Cornish spelling of his first name) being raised in that part of the UK, I liked to have an admiral of this region show an interest in him.**

* * *

><p><strong>NAVSTA Norfolk – In the bowels of the HMS Devon<strong>

Meanwhile, McGee went down the gangway in search of the heads. There should be heads on this deck...somewhere. He hoped to get there in time to relieve his swirling stomach.

He delved out his handkerchief and wiped the droplets of cold perspiration off his brow.

Suddenly, as he turned a corner and stepped over the coaming, some passing vessel's wake hit the Devon making her lurch. His equilibrium was virtually non existent, right now, and so he stumbled and pitched forward into some sailors who happened to round the next corner. The one closest to Tim, reacted without a seconds thought by thrusting out his hand and grabbing the NCIS agent by the elbow to steady him.

"_Landlubbers_..." He thought, until he remembered a similar occasion when the Devon's XO had reported on board for duty. The sailor himself had been new to the ship and he'd sniggered until a shipmate had poked him into his ribs as a warning, and one of the petty-officers had glared at him. Lt. Cdr. McGee was anything but a landlubber. And this bloke, now... Blimey! He was the spitting image for Christ's sake!

"Thanks, um..."

The sailor peered into Tim's sweaty face.

"Are you alright, Sir? You do look a bit green around the gills."

Tim swallowed hard and in one exhalation he managed a weak "Heads?"

The sailor craned his neck and pointed over Tim's shoulder. "You just passed them...Sir."

McGee spun on his heels which was definitely not the most sensible thing to do as his eyes had trouble adjusting to his brisk movement. The corridor appeared to be become distorted as the walls were closing in and the deck seemed to be slipping away from right under his feet.

As a result, it brought on a fresh wave of nausea making him clap one hand over his mouth and the other clutching his somersaulting stomach. His intestines felt like they were churning into mush.

The sailor sighed and again reached out to support the swaying agent, expertly steering him to and through the door to the nearest heads.

"Here you go, Sir."

Tim wrung his arm from the other man's hold and vaguely waved his hand in dismissal.

"You can go now. Thanks. Eh...I think I can manage from here on."

The words had barely left his mouth when he felt the contents of his stomach sweep up making him retch. He stumbled and only just made it to the sink, both hands gripping it for support so hard his knuckles turned white. His abdominal muscles and diaphragm contracted painfully and this morning's breakfast rushed out and into the sink. Heave upon heave. After the last one, he rested his head against the cool mirror, again feeling a cold sweat break out. His arms and legs felt like wet noodles and hardly able to support him any longer. He was trembling all over and it was all he could do to stay upright. McGee looked up and was appalled when he saw his own pale, sweaty face in the mirror.

He reeled away from the sink and entered a stall, slammed the lid of the toilet down, and sat on it, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his trembling knees. Why, oh why hadn't he taken his Dramamine?

"Kill me..."

Then, the walls and everything around him were on the move again. He moaned, went down on his knees, pulled up the lid again and promptly gave another seemingly endless technicolor yawn, leaning his one arm on the wall in front and the other on the rim. He panted and would've wished he could just lie down and sleep.

"Done, Tim?"

McGee looked up and slowly turned his head which was spinning and seemed to weigh a ton. He groaned when he saw Gibbs casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest and an amused smile on his face. Damn the man for looking so good.

Tim straightened his clothes, flushed the toilet and shuffled towards the sink.

He felt like he was ready to sink through the deck in shame. He turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face and in his neck. He cupped his hands under the stream of water and rinsed his mouth before turning the off the tap and towelling his face and neck dry.

"Take a deep breath."

Tim complied but it didn't do much to dispel the giddiness and the ague.

Gibbs offered him the glass of water he'd brought from the wardroom to drink. "Here. Drink."

McGee accepted it with shaking hands and gulped down the fresh water, relishing the cool liquid as it soothed his throat.

"Better?"

"A little." He swallowed. "Sorry, Boss."

"Let's get you off the ship, shall we? C'mon, Tim."

Tim was glad to leave the ship without further incidents. God, did he feel like a wimp! It didn't help feeling the gazes of the whole ship's company fixed on his back. Again. And he was pretty damn sure they'd be discussing his pathetically wretched state by and large.

Gibbs looked askance at his morose agent as they strode side by side along the quayside. "_Why is he still that upset by it? DiNozzo isn't even here to kid around. And I won't be telling anyone._"

"_My luck Tony wasn't there. Wouldn't be able to stop himself taking stupid pics on his cell and pat my belly..._" He cast a sideways glance at the ex-marine who seemed, thankfully, in deep thought. "_But making a spectacle of myself by actually tossing my cookies with the Boss coolly standing by as a first row witness? Disgusting. Great. Just great. I'll be the first and only in line for the über-wishy-washy reward!_" He could just see in his mind's eye the fierce team leader hand it out to him with that scornful smirk.

Both men's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Tim's ring tone for incoming texts. While Gibbs continued at the same, level pace, McGee slowed down to check his inbox. As the caller's name popped up on his screen, he stopped altogether and lickety-split read the message.

This time, his stomach flipped for a different reason than it did before and in a rush, his sallow cheeks regained their color – and some! - he'd lost back there, on board the HMS Devon.

Gibbs, no longer feeling the presence of his agent beside him, halted and turned back to check. Recognizing the goofy look on the younger man's face made him chortle.

Unbeknown to them, they were being watched.


	4. Chapter 4: Tim & Tom

**Chapter 4****: Tim & Tom**

**NAVSTA Norfolk – HMS Devon**

Tim deftly typed a reply, sent it, and putting his cell away again, broke into a trot to catch up with Gibbs.

"Boss? Um...where are we going? Are we done here already? Shouldn't we..."

"Hey!" Gibbs called over his shoulder. "You may not feel hungry, but I am starving. So, we take a break for a bite. You take some of those pills for your stomach and then we go back on board."

"Pills? I don't carry any pills!"

"So I thought. Stupid of you to leave them in your desk, McGee. Count yourself lucky we'll stop at the pharmacy to get you your dose!"

"But I..."

Gibbs turned around and glared at his agent, never breaking his stride.

"And if you're feeling sick again, you'll suck it up! Got that?" He wagged a finger at Tim punctuating his words. Then he looked forward again. "Or I'll put you up for a 6 month tour as Agent Afloat! Will cure you once and for all, I'm sure."

McGee's gait slowed and he visibly blanched in defeat.

"Y...you wouldn't..." He blurted out incredulously, emerald eyes nearly popping out.

This time, Gibbs stopped and let his gaze drift to the clear blue sky overhead, counted to three, looked down to face his agent once more, and finally raised an eyebrow as if daring the other man to question his intention.

McGee tilted his head and squinted at his boss, then gulped audibly and stared down at his shoes as he muttered under his breath. "You would."

Gibbs made to slap the back of his agent's head but, remembering they could still be seen from the HMS Devon's deck, he thought better of it and merely sighed. The kid would believe just about anything. Incredible.

He spun on his heels and resumed walking, smiling as McGee fell in step with him.

- -.-. -. . .

Back on board, they were met by the Navigating Officer Jago Pascoe who did a double take when he set eyes on McGee.

Noticing the peculiar look – one of so many he'd received from the moment he first set foot on the Devon's deck – McGee had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes and chose to adopt a mask of complete indifference.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I was informed by Cdr. Crozier you would have some questions for me?"

"For now, we'd like to take a look at Lt. Cdr. McGee's cabin."

"In that case... If you would kindly follow me to his living quarters, please?"

The NO lead the NCIS agents to the second deck forward and halted in front of a locked door.

"As soon as I heard, I took the liberty to lock the door to his private quarters," he explained as he produced a set of keys and opened the door to them. Then he stepped aside to let them in and waited while the two agents checked the XO's cabin.

As the second in command, Lt. Cdr. McGee was assigned a spacious room in comparison to the other officers' quarters on board, which were a little more cramped, except for the Captain's. And, no kidding, this wasn't exactly a cruise ship.

One corner held a sofa of sorts which also served as a bunk with built-in stowage compartments underneath. Above it, a compass was mounted on the bulkhead. To the left of the door, there was a covered washstand with a mirror above it, a closet and several storage lockers in which he could keep his personal effects and classified stuff. Overhead, there was a cluster of piping and welding.

To the right and lining the length of the wall, there was a working space with a desk littered with books and papers and – oh surprise – computer paraphernalia! The wall itself was adorned with calendars, watch charts, schedules, some personal pictures of a family in a rural place – the English McGee's? Hm.

All in all, the Lieutenant Commander's private accommodation was fairly comfortable to civilian standards; away and yet at home.

Gibbs opened the closet and found the clothes neatly hung up and arranged. Of course, this was a naval officer's closet – and a McGee. Gee! Was he just thinking of this man as truly a genuine McGee? As he closed the door again and sauntered over to the desk where Tim was going through the drawers after having booted the laptop which sat on top of the desk, Gibbs was comparing all he knew about the mysterious Lt. Cdr. McGee with his agent. He hadn't met the man in person, yet, but there were too many similarities already to be simply disregarded. This whole situation was so way out of spooky he wanted to pinch his own arm to reassure himself he wasn't caught in the middle of some weird dream.

A soft exclamation from the person beside him brought him out of his reverie.

"What, McGee?"

When Tim turned to face him, Gibbs was once more rewarded with that familiar pleased look that always reminded him of a kid with a new toy. He would never admit it, but he relished that look. He inwardly laughed remembering that scene in NCIS LA and later, in their own squad room when he caught McGee acting – playing! - as if there genuinely was such a multi-touch screen like the one at the LA office.

Tim nodded towards the laptop. "He's good. I don't have a clue why he would do that, but there are definitely encrypted files. Still... Why the need...?" He shook his head and tapped his teeth with his forefinger before returning to skimming through well organized maps and files.

Finally he closed the lid and turned back to the older agent.

"Boss, we'll have to take this laptop with us. I have a..."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows.

"Hunch, Tim? That the word you were looking for?"

McGee furrowed his brow in a pleased yet defiant way. "Yeahhh..."

Gibbs turned his attention towards the desk and opened a drawer to shuffle through it in an attempt to hide a smile. There were times when this geeky agent could still surprise him and this was one of those.

"Care to explain, McGee?" Gibbs coolly enquired, not looking up as he still feigned an interest in the drawer's contents.

Tim assumed a pensive look before replying. "I'd rather not, Boss. I can't speak with any certainty until I get some more analysis done on this beauty." He tapped the now closed laptop.

"Tell me, Lieutenant Pascoe, how well do you know the Lieutenant Commander?" Gibbs wanted to know.

Jago slowly stepped inside. When he had been standing outside the cabin, he'd covertly watched McGee. Now, as he stepped inside his friend's cabin to stand next to his look-alike, he had a somewhat disquiet feeling. The way this federal agent looked at him with the killer green eyes that were so familiar to him, didn't make him feel any better. Besides, he was reminded of his friend being hurt – deliberately - and lying in a hospital bed. And here was this...

"Lieutenant?" McGee's voice broke through his brown-study.

"Eh. Got a bit distracted. Sorry. Right. I can safely say we are friends. Good friends. We've known each other for quite some time, actually. We first met at a sailing camp in Penzance. We weren't exactly in the same age group. He... Well...I sort of took it upon me to... You see? He was the odd one out. A prodigious bookworm, if ever you saw one." He chuckled at the memory. "Some boys in his group didn't take too kindly to a nerd – begging your pardon – like him and whenever they got a chance, they'd pester him. Look here, he won't like it if it comes to his ears I told you, but then,...well... I only want to help. You'd find out anyway."

"So you protected him against bullies." Tim stated.

"Exactly."

"And he needed this?"

"He was a bit of a softy, you know. You wouldn't know it now, but he was something of a pansy. Bit small for his age, skinny, delicate...his face more that of a girl's... Not the best of attributes to be taken serious as a boy. Not until he got his growth spurt. Yes... I've known him that long. For several years we've been at this same summer camp. I never understood why he kept coming... He's a good sailor...once he gets past his sickness. Oh yes, this was the other thing they badgered him about."

He walked over to the desk and picked up the picture of the family, completely unaware of Gibbs' stare.

"His family?"

Jago nodded.

"Then, who's the dark colored boy?" Gibbs wanted to know.

"That's Akil. Tom's adoptive brother...a Palestinian boy who'd lost all his family in a bombing and got so badly injured he was transported to London for further specialised treatment. Tom's dad, who's a doctor, was there, in the Gaza, voluteering at the local hospital. He grew quite attached to the boy. Organised the whole trip to the UK and accompanied the boy."

"How's Lt. Cdr. McGee's relationship with Akil?"

"Right from the start, Tom's been looking out for him like a real brother. That kid was easily scared...fidgety like a young colt." He looked up pensively. "Actually, interacting with horses proved therapeutic for Akil. He's great with horses and he likes to help out at the riding school which earns him some nice pocket money. Yeah...well..." Jago's eyes drifted along the cabin introspectively, but then he resumed talking. "Mrs McGee's a maths teacher. I've stayed at the McGee's. They're really very nice people."

"Aren't you older than . McGee? Isn't it unusual for an older boy to befriend a much younger and stay at his home?"

"Think what you want, but there was nothing wrong with it. And, what's more, his parents have always trusted me."

Jago's indignance took Tim by surprise.

"Oh no, no nooo. Please, we only need to ask these questions."

Jago gave the young agent a strange look.

"All right, then. As I said; they trusted me, as did Tom. He didn't have many friends and was prone to lock himself away in his room. He was that happy with just his books and his computers. He even amused himself in re-assembling them from parts he could lay his hands on. One night, we clambered into a container foraging for scraps he could use when a local computer shop had dumped old computers that had served their time. Didn't always succeed, though. Anyway, with me, he'd at least venture out. When Akil joined the McGee family, Tom would take the boy on long walks and even treks. Not only beneficial to Akil who had to shake this trauma of losing his entire family, but also to Tom himself. He's always been mostly a loner and extremely shy. So, yes, I may safely say I am a very good friend. We did meet less when I went to Exeter University. When he told me he wanted to pursue a maritime career in the Royal Navy, I thought I'd give it a chance, myself. I'd grown tired of what I'd been doing so far. It never could really thrill me and so I followed him. And here we are."

Seeing the inscrutable faces of the agents, he gave an apologetical shrug. "Sorry for rambling, gentlemen. Blame it on the shock at hearing my best friend's been so brutally attacked."

"Do you have any idea who might have been after Lt. Cmdr. McGee? Enemies you would know of?"

Jago thought for a while, before slowly shaking his head.

"For the love of God, I can't think of anybody wanting to harm him. The whole ship's company just love him! He's a down to earth type of fellow, you know? Who would want to hurt him? And don't you dare come up with this stuff and nonsense about him having risen too quickly to this rank at his age and others begrudging him that, or anyone of the lower decks wanting revenge for some punishment he'd have meted out to them... Everybody knows him for a fair man. Any punishment was merited...and they all know it and accept it. Don't misunderstand me: he's no saint. He has his flaws like anyone of us."

He looked at his watch.

"See here, if that's all for now, I'd like to go and see him at the hospital. Knowing him, he'll be fretting if he's stuck there. I know for a fact that he'd bolt from the place as soon as his legs could carry him."

"Sure, we won't keep you any longer. May we remind you we might still need to talk to you at some later point during the investigation."

"No problem. I'll be here and I'll be more than glad to offer you any help you may need for catching the perpetrators."

- -.-. -. . .

**Bethesda Naval Hospital**

Lt. Cdr. Tomas McGee was not a happy man when he slowly fought his way back to the waking world. He was immensely sore and feeling bruised all over like he had been beaten up.

Hey! Hold on a sec! He'd actually been on the receiving end of a mugging.

He groaned at the painful memory. What's more, he felt humiliated at having been taken out so easily. He hadn't been able to even defend himself! Some officer he was! A surprise like that on the battlefield would be lethal. Unforgivable.

His breathing both quickened and deepened which aggravated the pain in his chest.

As awareness took a firmer hold, he wondered what had set off his waking up? A door? He involuntarily tensed at the nearing footsteps.

Now was the time, he decided, to open his eyes, or at least the one that wasn't all puffed, black and sore.

He gave a resigned sigh at finding one man standing close to his bed. More questioning, no doubt. But the moment that had him in for the shock of his life was when his eyes found the second man beyond the grey haired agent. This man seemed to have run face first into an invisible wall, judging by his stance which screamed out both shock and disbelief, mirroring Tom's own.

Gibbs, sensing both younger men's obvious discomfort, gave a polite cough which served its intended purpose to snap the two McGee's out of their momentary stupor.

Tom fidgeted but quickly regretted the movement, feeling how his abused muscles in every part of his anatomy protested.

Gibbs sighed and rolled his eyes as he stooped forward and pressed the pain med button which would give instant relief to the young sea officer.

Tom hadn't even noticed. Not Gibbs' action, nor how the pain stepped back. All he could see was this other man. There was a ringing in his ears and a lightheadedness took over his senses.

"First things first," thought Gibbs, and he briskly turned towards his McGee.

"McGee...Tim... Either you take a chair and sit down before you decide to make a close-up inspection of the floor, or you leave. Which shall it be?"

"I can handle it, Gibbs."

Gibbs grinned at the stubborn streak of the younger man. Not 'boss'. No. 'Gibbs'. If that's how McGee wanted to play it, then, so be it.

But when he saw the younger agent stumble slightly, Gibbs quickly took him by the elbow and steered him to a chair. McGee seemed ready to collapse. There was a distinct pinched look on his face and a pallor like all the blood had rushed out of his body, a sure sign Tim hadn't yet recovered from this latest shock.

Of course he himself was quite impressed as well, but he, at least, had been warned by DiNozzo. He could slap himself for not having conveyed the warning to Tim. He could only imagine his own reaction if he were to meet his spitting image. Dead ringer... He involuntarily shuddered.

Time to step between the two clones.

"By all means: do let me know when you two are done staring."

They both stuttered apologies at the same time, not giving any indication they were actually going to comply to his request.

"S..sorry B-boss..." "Mm-my ap-pologies, Sir."

Oh boy! This was going to be such a fun case.

". McGee. We're pleased to see you awake."

The man in the bed looked doubtful. At the moment, he was anything but pleased and his eyes kept wandering to his doppelganger who, how could it not be, gave him an unwavering green stare back.

Gibbs gave an exasperated sigh and planted himself between them, effectively breaking the eye contact. The sea officer glared at him for his impudence and he was sure his own agent wore a similar expression.

Without turning around, Gibbs called McGee.

"Tim?"

Tim looked up at Gibbs back and muttered: "I'm good, Boss."

He pulled out his notepad and waited.

Gibbs walked around the bed to the other side to take up his position there.

"Good. We do have some questions, now that you are awake."

Lt. Cdr. McGee only waved his hand in abject dismissal.

"I'm afraid there isn't much I can tell."

He looked first to the left of his bed and then to the right, hoping to find a way to lever the head of his bed but Tim found the button before he did and pressed it.

"Did you get a look at your assailants?"

Tom didn't dare shake his head and settled by directing a level gaze at the silver haired man with the startling ocean blue eyes. Mesmerizing.

"No. I...got pulled from behind. I'm sorry..." The last words came out in a whisper and he looked down at the covers that had suddenly become his main focus. Thus avoiding any eye contact.

An awkward silence ensued. A prolonged silence.

Gibbs wasn't sure what brought on this reaction. Was it because the man felt sorry for being unable to help them with their investigation or because he was beating himself up for having been surprised by the attack. Somehow, Gibbs was inclined to accept both reasons in equal shares, for that's how his own agent would be thinking. That much he knew for a fact.

- -.-. -. . .

Lt. Cdr. McGee's mind had slipped back to that morning.

How had it all spun out of control?

The _Devon _had logged an uneventful crossing and, as the distance to her port of call closed, the crew in mounting happy anticipation had discussed the craziest plans for their oncoming landfall. Lt. Cdr. McGee was no different. Outwardly, he was collected. The epitome of the unruffled naval officer. Inside, he was vibrating with excitement.

Whenever he found a moment to think about it, he knew he'd found his dream job. Agreed, it was a tough job which carried a lot of responsibility. But travelling around the globe... Now that was a bonus! As a child, he'd dreamt of seeing the world. Meet other cultures. He'd always been so eager to learn.

This landfall was different from the numerous others. This felt like going back to his roots. An emotional journey of sorts. He was born here, on American soil. A mere footstep away. Bethesda Naval Hospital. Even if he never knew his birth parents. Were they even still alive? Together? Did he have siblings he didn't know of? Grandparents? Uncles and aunts? Excitement with a dose of trepidation. That's how he had felt. It was not that he had the intention of finding out whether he'd been orphaned or simply given out for adoption. He was curious by nature even if he didn't necessarily follow up on this trait of his character. He was happy with his adoptive parents. They were his true family and the only one he'd known. Still, the fact that he now found himself so close to his place of birth thrilled him.

When he stepped outside the ID office after concluding his business, he was chuffed...happy. Again not pronounced – not on the outside - but there nonetheless. It had been such that his guard had been down. Not that he needed to be constantly on the alert. After all, Norfolk Virginia was no war zone, was it?

So when he'd felt rough hands pull him brutally from behind, making him trip backwards into the alley, where he'd been savagely and painfully clipped, he'd been quite unprepared. By the time he'd been able to take his next breath during his predicament, it had been too late to check the attack single handed, and blow upon blow had rained upon him.

His ears were ringing. Someone raised the general alarm?

He threw up his arms in defence. They felt like lead. They were being held down! He writhed.

_Fight!_

His breathing became harsh and increasingly rapid. Somebody tried to choke him! He tossed his head from side to side.

_Fight back!_

His distraught eyes became distant, yet filled with pain as he relived this ordeal. This failing to protect himself. This humiliation. Blinking, he saw green terrified eyes – his eyes! – staring back at him... As if trying to penetrate his mind. Willing...what?

_Don't quit fighting!_

Breathe! He couldn't breathe! Air! He needed air! NOW!

_FIGHT NOW!_


	5. Chapter 5: Golyadkin

**I apologize for the long wait. Real life interfered, acting its often annoying self. And when I _did_ find the time to write fanfic, I acted on spur of the moment ideas for other stories.**

**Sooo...On to the story. I hope you'll enjoy it and leave a wee review. **

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 5<span>: Golyadkin**

Lt. Jago Pascoe was pacing up and down the corridor, chin sunk to his chest, hands locked behind his back.

As soon as he had been excused by the NCIS agents as they were finishing up processing Tom's quarters, he had hastened to Bethesda Naval Hospital to see his friend.

Upon arrival, he'd found Tom in a medicated sleep. He'd seen badly beaten up men before, but beholding the person he considered as close as a brother gave him quite a shock.

It was disconcerting to see how Tom's long, already lanky, frame as he lay on that hospital bed, seemed shrivelled. Jago was also shocked by the pallor of Tom's face, marred by cuts and bruises, one eye swollen so badly it pulled the otherwise handsome face out of proportion. A gash adorned Tom's temple and had needed stitches.

Jago's eyes travelled down to the rest of his friend's body which was visible. The long, sinewy arms and delicate long fingered hands...that usually were flying this way and that when Tom was making a point, or when he was typing on his computers which, sometimes, seemed to be an extension to the man's body.

"Oh Tom, boy. You won't be happy, when you see what you're wearing." Jago muttered slightly amused as he took in the...hospital gown with the ridiculous print. He made a mental note to pack some of Tom's stuff like a pair of decent pyjamas. Yes. Tom would feel more like himself in those.

Well, for now, he would sit and wait till Tom would see fit to join the waking world once more, and with that thought, Jago dug out a paperback and leaned back with it, occasionally interrupting his reading to cast a glance towards his slumbering friend.

And Tom remained impervious to all that happened around him: the rustle of pages being turned by Jago as he read on, or the coming and going of the medical personnel to check on their patient. Some time during the long afternoon, a nurse had woken him up to check how cognizant he was and Jago was relieved when she informed him all was well. Well, relatively speaking, of course.

After that test, Tom had slipped back into sleep, only sparing a short moment to look at his friend and acknowledge Jago's presence by a croaked "hi" and a squeeze of his fingers as Jago took his hand as if to offer some strength.

Jago had just put the book aside and laced his fingers behind his back when there was a knock on the door, followed by the two agents whom he had met on board the Devon.

Gibbs and Tim had finished questioning some of the ship's company and now paid a visit to Tom in hopes to glean something more on the identity of his attackers.

Jago left the agents at Tom's bedside, telling them he was going for some tea and should they need something to drink, too...? They politely declined the offer.

Back at the ward, his mind took him to such areas where he was asking who could possibly have a grudge against his friend strong enough to make an attempt on his life. Most of the crew had passed the venue without anyone of them jumping out as possible culprits. How could they? Nobody had been allowed to leave the ship until the Lt. Cmdr. was back.

He was nearly at the end of the corridor when his thoughts were interrupted by loud terrified cries and what appeared to be a struggle going on inside his friend's hospital room. He raced back, vaguely noticing the medical personnel starting to make their way to Tom's room for assistance.

Meanwhile, both Gibbs and McGee were appalled at this sudden change and both had seen - experienced – a flashback panic attack first hand to recognize one.

Following only a moment's hesitation, Tim jumped up and tried to get a hold of Tom's thrashing arms, lest the IV lines be pulled out, as his eyes locked with the stricken man's.

Gibbs had swiftly punched the button to alert the nurses' station and was now trying to soothe the Lt. Cmdr.

Jago burst into the room and in a flash he was at his friend's side, holding Tom's head with both hands, thus forcing Tom to look straight at him instead of casting wild glances around him.

"Look at me, Tom." Jago whispered, adding a note of urgency to his voice.

When the intended connection failed to establish, Jago spoke up louder, yet calmly.

"Tom! I said: look at me." Green eyes finally found his. "That's it, boy. Now, breathe along with me, Tom." And Jago started breathing at the same rate as Tom's quick inhalations, but only for a few breaths before slowing down, never losing eye contact and this way maintaining the decreasing rate of aspiration until the medical personnel arrived to take over.

The two agents and the naval officer stepped back, waiting until the patient had calmed down again, a mask on his face to facilitate his breathing.

A young doctor put away his stethoscope and, thrusting his hands in his coat's pockets, addressed the anxious visitors.

"So we have here a case of respiratory alkalosis brought on by the pain and possibly stress. Nothing to worry about and it's completely under control. I presume you're interested in how he's doing?"

Anxious nods from two. The third, the gray haired man, remained quite unfazed.

"Of course... Now, there appear to be no underlying injuries. He's suffering a mild concussion. There's no sign of any bleeding into the chest wall cavity. None of the broken ribs seem to have punctured the membrane. He'll be sore and will have to take pain meds. No physical activity for the next four to six weeks."

He looked from one to the other and continued. "The patient's now resting and I expect it to be untroubled, so I'm afraid I'll have to insist you leave."

"But..." Tim started.

"Are you his brother?" The doctor enquired.

Before anybody could deny this, the doctor went on. "In that case, you may sit with him. He'll appreciate that." The doctor's stern look travelled to Gibbs and Jago. "No more questioning for today. Time's up. Tomorrow's a better time. Good day, Sirs."

The doctor preceded them into the corridor.

Before Gibbs and Jago were through the door, though, both turned back for one last look at McGee who stood seemingly lost beside Tom's bed. He shrugged helplessly.

"Gentlemen?" The doctor's voice drifted from down the corridor.

"Take good care of your...brother...McGee." Gibbs said with a snort before stomping out of the room, a confused Jago in his wake, leaving an even more confused Tim McGee behind.

With a resigned sigh, Tim sank down in a chair near the window and crossing his arms around him, hands tucked in his armpits, turned his gaze towards his doppelganger.

- -.-. -. . .

A nurse, doing her rounds, had quietly come in and removed the mask as soon as the patient's breathing had returned to normal. She had checked him and had jotted her findings down on his chart. Before leaving, she'd turned to look at Tim with a reassuring smile.

"Your brother will be fine. Don't worry too much."

He'd gulped and then croaked out a 'thank you' where upon she finally left him alone with...his physical double.

Now that he was alone...with the assault victim, the whole situation began to sink in. It didn't help to think about it.

The room was quiet... Like a tomb. All other hospital sounds filtering in from the other side of the door, seemed to have muted to complete and utter silence. A deafening silence which had his blood coursing through his ears. His heart was thudding scarily loud in his chest.

Tim couldn't shake this overwhelming feeling of dread as he remembered tales...about...doppelgangers. Ghost tales. Evil twins.

He wasn't superstitious by nature. However, now was as good a time as any to start believing in the supernatural, he thought.

Take this man, lying like dead in that hospital bed. Was he an evil twin? Was this encounter an omen? Was this man the harbinger of an impending death? His own death?

A shudder rippled through Tim's body.

A crisis apparition? Was this all real? This situation bore every sign of a nightmare. If such were the case, then he was desperately hoping to be shaken awake...real soon.

Vampires!

Tim's eyes went wide at this new notion and his bewildered gaze shot towards the quiet prone figure.

The man did indeed look very very pale. In fact, ghostly white. The taut skin was a shimmering translucence in the late afternoon sun. But the body cast a shadow on the side away from the light.

At best, this man was indeed just...a look-alike. In that case, Tim was hoping this wouldn't cause too many problems like...a mistaken identity. Small wonder the Devon's crew had been ogling him!

He gave a nervous laugh, which turned into a small hiccup when the other occupant of the hospital room mumbled something in his slumber.

There was this book at home. He remembered his dad reading it and telling him about it as he recommended it to Tim to have a try at it himself. "The Double". Fyodor Dostoyevsky's Petersburg Poem.

"...The nocturnal visitor was no other than himself — Mr. Golyadkin himself, another Mr. Golyadkin, but absolutely the same as himself — in fact, what is called a double in every respect..."

Tim felt shivers run down his spine and he suddenly sprang up in agitation to stare out of the window. He wasn't looking at anything in particular. Merely lost in his own thoughts. He didn't even know what was expected of him. Why had Gibbs left him alone with this...stranger...? For that's what the Lieutenant Commander was to Tim: a stranger. No family attachment. Definitely not a brother! Tim had no brother! A sister, yes. There was only Sarah and him. No Tom or Tomas... Whatever.

He rubbed his arms. So cold.

A moan from the bed nearly made him jump out of his skin and he whirled around.

Tom McGee had turned his head on his pillow for a one-eyed look at Tim. All he saw, was an outline standing at the window. A familiar shadow. And then it came back to him. The other man. His double. He swallowed.

"Who...who are you?" A shaky, barely audible whisper, as if he was almost afraid to hear the answer.

The shadow slowly came away from the window and approached the bed and his face became discernible. Tom involuntarily cringed away from the man, but found there was nowhere he could hide. Not in his state, lying in a hospital bed.

Was he slowly going mad? What was the meaning of this? He wasn't dead, was he? Having an out-of-body experience or something like that? It was as if he was observing himself, here. Why was this man alone with him? Where had the other gone? The gray haired one?

Jago?

He vaguely remembered his friend being there when he'd had that panic attack earlier on. Again, he felt the panic rear its ugly head. It made his belly feel odd and all gooey and the bile rise.

Tom tried to lean to the side to throw up but it only served in flaring up the pain.

Tim was galvanized into action when the other man was so obviously in physical trouble. He was at the Lieutenant Commander's head in two strides with a kidney dish at the ready.

Even if he felt slightly nauseous himself, Tim still helped the other by supporting him by the shoulder as Tom heaved.

Done, Tom sank back onto his pillow, eyes closed. The exertion had left him exhausted and the already hurt parts of his body protesting again.

Tim, a little more calm again as well as worried, set the tray aside and turned his attention back to the man in the bed.

After a while, as soon as he felt up to it, Tom spoke up. "I saw you with the other agent. I'm sorry if...if I... I mean. I..." He faltered and stared intensely at Tim from one green eye.

"It's okay. I...err...I was just as...as much surprised as you were. You...eh...look...so much like...me..."

"I didn't know what to...think... Thought I got stuck in a nightmare..."

"Likewise..."

There was an odd silence, until they both started at the same time.

"So..." "So..."

A nervous laugh.

Tim tentatively took Tom's right hand in his.

"Hey. I'm Timothy McGee, NCIS agent. But my friends call me Tim..." He shrugged. "...or McGee... Howdy." He blushed furiously.

Tom squeezed Tim's hand. "I'm Tomas McGee, Royal Navy. My friends call me Tom. Not McGee...or McGoo..." He glared at the memory of the way one Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo called his namesake.

"Oh!" Tim exclaimed in surprise. "Did DiNozzo actually say this to you?"

"Not just said it – called me that! McGoo." Tom snorted indignantly. "The nerve!"

"Tony's quite okay, you know? We're friends. Very good friends. I'd be very concerned if all of a sudden he stopped calling me names. I got so used to it and besides, he doesn't mean it bad. After all, he's Tony big D little i Big N little ozzo." Tim grinned.

Tom huffed a small laugh, mindful of his injuries.

They both relaxed and in silence took each other in, as if meeting for the first time.

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><p><strong>Next chapter will not be long in coming! :)<br>**


	6. Chapter 6: Aftershocks

**_A/N: Warning for minor season 9 spoilers_**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<em>: Aftershocks<em>**

It wasn't until he was back at his desk at NCIS that the reality of having a spitting image of himself roaming this planet, hit him.

He'd already been slightly more absent than usually on the ride back to HQ, but now he numbly made a beeline for his desk without sparing the others even a glance.

Tony and Ziva, whilst they had a fair idea what was on their friend's mind, cast a questioning look at the team leader who merely shrugged and sat down behind his own desk.

By now, everyone on the team had seen McGee's double and their thoughts had taken various directions since then.

Ziva sat, resting her head in her hands and elbows firmly planted on the top of her desk. She was staring vacantly ahead. She wasn't exactly having her eyes focused on Tony who occupied the opposite desk. No. Instead, she was seeing another man. _Two_ other men. _Was this a mere coincidence? Who was this man really and what was the relation to her friend and coworker? What was his character like? Was he as soft and gentle as their own McGee?_

Tony oozed indifference, but he was intrigued nonetheless. He was reclined as best he could in his desk chair, legs crossed at the ankles on his desk and hands interlaced behind his head as he was making a study of the ceiling as if seeing the two men that were on his mind hovering there. _Was the world ready for two McGees? What if there were more? Maybe they were even results of some dark, secret experiment? Some evil mind, like one straight from a James Bond movie, raising an army of super geeks! With guns! This English one even had big guns. Very very big guns! This British version of his Probie seemed pretty no-nonsense to him. Pranks would be totally lost on this man. In fact, one wouldn't even try! No, he had to admit, after this first impression, that his Probie was more fun...for a clone... Good grief! They could very well be aliens!_

Gibbs sat at his desk with his chin resting contemplatively on his right hand, gaze fixed on his youngest team member._ Were both McGees related? Why wasn't there any mention in McGee's personnel file? And why this attack on the other McGee? Was Tomas McGee mistaken for Timothy McGee? Quite possibly, Tim was the real target. He would need to be watched. That much was certain._

Tim let his fingers play with the keyboard as he ran a search on his double's background.

He sat back in shock – yes, even after having met the man live, a mere picture of his double could still overwhelm him.

His eyes roamed the screens as they popped up. Every bit of new information shed more light on this man's life.

Tim was used to burrowing into people's private lives on his quest for information; anything that could turn out to be crucial to help solve a crime.

This time, though, it had become rather personal. Not that this was anything new. In fact, two members of his family had so far been directly involved in murder cases. Of course they weren't guilty of any crime...other than obstructing the investigations. Even he, himself, had been guilty of that when his sister had turned up on his doorstep, crying.

He sighed as he thought of that latest case. His paternal grandmother had been that other member of his family involved.

Shaking his brooding, he clicked the printing commands and got up to collect the papers from the printer.

He sat down and rested his chin in his hands as he started reading the documents.

Born in Bethesda...same date as his own birthday. November 15, 1978.  
>Green eyes.<em> Same as his.<em>  
>Flaxen hair. Lighter than his current color. The man's lighter shade was undoubtedly the result of his life at sea.<br>Father: Stuart McGee, MD  
>Mother (maiden name): Majella D'Arcy<br>He had a brother, Akil, and a younger sister Wenna; both adopted...just like Tomas. Akil's adoption had been a complicated one, judging from the extra files on it. What with the Shari'a it wasn't really a surprise!

Reading on, Tim gave a derisive snort. _My father would be so proud if he learnt he had at least one son serving the navy, albeit the British!_

All of a sudden, his heart sped up and he felt a clutching sensation in the pit of his stomach as jealousy kindled inside him. It scared him.

A couple of deep breaths and a lot of willpower calmed him enough to push the threatening and bitter sensation to the background. For the time being. With a sinking feeling, he continued reading; unaware of the concerned looks he got.

After a while, he let his thoughts wander off again to the man who'd thrown his previously organized life topsy-turvy. It had been quite the shock for him._ Am I in danger? What if it was me they were actually after? Why else would the attack have taken place here and now and not in England or any port the HMS Devon had visited? Who is he? Could he be my twin brother? In that case, why hadn't mom and dad told me this little fact? Surely they must've known?_

A chilling thought occurred to him. _Suppose – just suppose his parents were not his biological parents, either? They surely wouldn't wait 30 odd years to tell him they'd adopted him as an infant? Would they? And if they'd really kept this a secret all along, they'd surely given Gibbs' famous rules, notably Rule #4, a new meaning! Wasn't this one secret they should've shared with him in the least?_

He simply couldn't believe they'd keep such an important matter to themselves.

He jumped up so suddenly that his chair bounced backwards against the partition wall, causing all heads to turn his way.

The notion of this idea made him dizzy and, ignoring the many curious glances, he made a bee line to the men's room.

Leaning heavily on the sink, he stared at the familiar face in the mirror.

Who am I really? Who are my real parents? Is Sarah really my sibling sister? She didn't resemble him and, while more siblings didn't share the same looks, it might explain why they were different. He'd been told before how much they differed in looks.

"Children begin by loving their parents. After a time, they judge them. Rarely, if ever, do they forgive them." This quote by Oscar Wilde encompassed everything he was thinking, right now.

He loved his parents. It stood to reason Tomas McGee loved his', too. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced they were twins. Question remained who was the adopted one. How could he judge his parents? What if they were not his biological parents? And, suppose they were: could he forgive them? His true mom and dad? Or just mom?

What a way to meet his...brother. Yeah, brother. What else could he possibly be?

All of a sudden he found his world disrupted. He'd been numb with shock the moment he set eyes on Lt. Cmdr. McGee and saw himself...no matter if the other man's face was marred by multiple injuries.

He broke out in a cold sweat and started breathing rapidly and uncontrolled until he saw little stars darting in his vision.

Turning on the faucet, he quickly splashed some water to his face. Drying his face with a paper towel, he leaned against the far wall and forced himself to calm down and take slow, regular breaths.

He was so concentrated on composing himself, eyes tightly shut, that he hadn't noticed Gibbs had followed him into the men's room.

Standing in the doorway, Gibbs took in his young agent's obvious confusion and felt a twinge of guilt, remembering how he'd enjoyed keeping the victim's identity from McGee, though he'd been quick to share this little detail with the others as soon as he got the case-file. But then, how could he have known the Lt. Cmdr. would turn out to be a dead-ringer of the NCIS agent. Such a surprise would floor anyone!

Gibbs patiently waited until the younger man would notice him in his own time.

But Tim didn't as much as move, too sucked in by his own thoughts.

The team leader was going to say something, when his cell phone broke the silence.

With a look of annoyance at being disturbed, he barked: "Gibbs."

"_Boss. We have a situation_."

After that, there was only a prolonged silence. "Spill, DiNozzo."

"_Lt. Cmdr. McGee's missing._" Then, before Gibbs could disconnect, Tony hastened to add. "_Boss?_"

"What?" Gibbs sighed. Frankly, this wasn't the time to play games. What more could go wrong?

"_That's not all there is_."

"DiNozzo...?" Gibbs grumbled warningly, keeping his eyes on McGee who had roused at the ring tone and was now staring straight at him, listening in on everything he said.

"_Admiral McGee's here and the S..._" He was speaking to thin air, since Gibbs had already hung up. 

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><p><strong>Not a particularly long chapter but it's better than nothing. <strong>


	7. Chapter 7: Father and Son

**Sorry for the long delay. I had a challenge entry to finish, a SeSa assignment, and had started posting my AZ of NCIS Murderers...**

**I hope you haven't all given up on me? Also remember I'm not as fast in writing in a foreign language.**

**-oOo-  
><strong>

_**A/N: once more I have to give you a spoiler warning for season 9**_

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 7<span>: Father and Son**

It took Gibbs one look at his agent to get him back into the right gear before they both strode purposefully towards the squad room.

"Boss? What was that?" Tim asked pleadingly.

"Your father's here."

Without warning, Gibbs halted and turned around, grabbing the younger man's arm.

"Tim! What's going on?" The team leader searched his agent's face but found no indication he knew anything.

Tim shook his head and, giving his superior a wide-eyed stare, whispered: "I don't know what's going on. You gotta believe me, Boss!" He turned around, running shaky fingers through his hair in agitation before facing Gibbs again.

"Can't help it, but I feel like I'm stuck in a nightmare, Boss!"

He brushed past Gibbs, muttering: "More importantly; what _is_ my dad doing here..."

"More importantly; where has Lt. Cmdr. McGee gone!"

Tim spun around at that extra piece of information. "What?"

- -.-. -. . .

When they arrived in the bull pen, they found Tony pointing his thumb upstairs.

"They're with the Director. McGee, what's..."

"Don't...don't ask, Tony. I'm just as much in the dark as you are."

Gibbs didn't direct his steps to his desk. Instead, he was already halfway the stairs leading to Director Vance's office.

"DiNozzo: get your ass to Bethesda! Find the lieutenant commander! David, with him! McGee! Get going!" He hated to hurry the young agent, but he knew there was no better way to keep him focused on the job...and put an albeit temporary lid on his emotions.

Tim didn't need to be told twice and bounded up the stairs in twos.

True to form, Gibbs was already at the door and, ignoring the Director's assistant, rapped on the door before opening it and striding in. He never was one for wasting precious time.

As Tim passed by Pamela's desk, he offered her an apologetic smile before entering Vance's office to stand face to face with his own father, Admiral Oliver McGee. The man who was disappointed his only...only?...son hadn't pursued a navy career like himself and...granddad, who never could pass an opportunity to point out he, Timothy McGee, could never hack it in the Navy.

Since he knew himself too well, even when a scrawny teenager, to know he couldn't cut it in the Navy, he'd started making plans of his own where his future was concerned. He'd been determined to make his father proud by doing something he'd been dreaming about for so long and still work for the Navy...in a fashion. But his father was so set in his ways he couldn't understand his son's vocation. At least, not that Tim was aware of.

It had taken one phone call, after his grandma Penelope had urged him to do so, to find out his dad _had_ thought about his son and his chosen profession. They'd met again to have a very emotional conversation which had been so long overdue. Penny had been right. His father still loved him. Only, he never was good at showing love and affection when he'd been disappointed.

Admiral McGee's treatment of his son, bordering on emotional abuse as soon as it was apparent his kid would never follow in his footsteps and the generations of seafaring McGees before him, had had far reaching consequences. The deliberate constraint had left its marks on a child who'd become withdrawn and whose self-esteem had gone south. A child that found more comfort in being alone in his room with his books and computers.

When he'd won his place on Gibbs' team, the young man had slowly regained his confidence. NCIS had become his life and his second family.

There had been times when he'd wondered if his father would ever get past his dashed hopes.

Standing here, face to face with his father, following years of resentment, Tim still found it hard to forget. After working nearly a decade for NCIS, his character had grown such he vowed he would never be cowered by his own father again. Like that first, albeit short, reunion, his resolve was close to...dissolve again.

Tim blinked and gave himself a mental head slap. Looking up, into his father's eye, he straightened and stretched out his hand awkwardly towards the other man.

After only a moment's hesitation, the Admiral made to shake Tim's proffered hand, but then pulled the surprised agent close for the briefest of moments before holding him at arm's length to look him over.

"Son. Good to see you."

"Er…li…likewise…" Tim muttered. If he was honest to himself, he knew his father's display had thrown him and it still had left him nervous.

"Are you fine, bo...Timothy?"

"Yeah…yeah, I am. Now, er…what…?" Tim frowned, annoyed at his inability to speak a full sentence. Of course his father would notice.

The director and Gibbs were watching this little scene – one of the many of that day – with interest…and not a little amusement.

Secretary of the Navy, Clayton Jarvis, waved Tim and Gibbs to take a seat at the conference table.

"I'll be brief. In here," he shoved a file towards Gibbs, "you'll find all you need pertaining to this case. The Admiral…"

"Oh cut the crap, Clayton. There's no need for formality, here, so drop it."

Admiral McGee leaned forward, folding his hands, so much like his son's, on the table. "Someone attempted to break into my office in Norfolk."

"Norfolk? You were in Norfolk? Since when?" Tim blurted out.

And here he'd thought his father and him were back on speaking terms and honest with each other! How could he have been so blind. He felt anger bubbling up.

"Forgive me for not having told you, son. It's been quite hectic lately. I had planned on calling you so we could meet up soon. There's still much I'd like to talk about with my son. Didn't want to miss the chance, now that I was in the neighborhood."

"Yeah…right…" Tim mumbled unconvinced and proceeded to study his hands lying palms down on the shiny table.

"We assume there's a connection to the mugging of one Lt. Cmdr. Tomas McGee, RN, from HMS Devon?" Gibbs voiced what was on his mind and Tim's.

The Admiral sighed. To the observant Agent McGee, his father seemed only too well aware of the other McGee. The Admiral's eyes flitted all across the room in his effort to avoid eye-contact with his son.

Tim's heart thudded like crazy in his chest.

"That's it. You know..." he said in an exhalation. "You really do know...him."

He felt deflated.

His father knew. His mother would know, too. Would Sarah? Was he the only one who hadn't known? It was too much of a coincidence. Heck! A blind man could see the likeness. How could he forget that chilling sensation as if he was staring into a mirror? Seeing his own face?

Tim closed his eyes and slouched in his chair, resting his head in his hand. Gah, this business was giving him a headache. And trying to rub that away, his fingers started their massage.

"Timothy..."

"Don't..."

Tim gave himself a mental kick. They had a case to solve and now...his father...the Admiral...was involved, too. He was not a little surprised he hadn't been pulled off the case! The whole case seemed to come down to...bearers of the name McGee being targeted for whatever as yet unknown reason. He had to stay on this particular case because he felt it was imperative to get to the bottom of this. There had to be an explanation why both...his spitting image...and his father had been picked out. But then, who was to say he wasn't, too!

This current case was well on its way to become tough. Never before had he had this feeling of foreboding. As if things were happening to culminate to a cataclysmic event.

It took him a lot of willpower to just drop this broodiness and pay attention to what was being discussed here and now. So, he put up his professional mask and tried to ignore the man sitting so close to him; his father.

As it turned out after the meeting, nothing worthwhile had been stolen from the office...apart from a family photograph the Admiral always kept with him. The computers had been tampered with, but the Navy's IT man had reassured them the password hadn't been compromised, nor had the firewall been breached, so nothing of importance had left the room.

The photograph... of the McGee family...

One mugging and one break-in...

Sarah!

"Gibbs! What about Sarah? As long as we don't know what all this is all about, she should be put under protection, too."

Admiral McGee stared at his son with shock written all over his face.

"Oh my God! Sarah!"

He was up in a flash to stand beside Tim, grabbing him by the upper arm.

"Somebody really is after my family?"

"Your family? What's this with that British Lieutenant Commander? Is he also part of...your...family, father?" Tim couldn't help but splutter. "How come I'd never heard of him before? What have you done?"

Gibbs sat back in his chair and looked speculatively at his agent. In all the years McGee had been on his team, he'd never seen the younger man like this. He'd never expected calm and rational Timothy McGee could talk in such a way to his...father. Of course he knew next to nothing about Tim's relationship with his parents. He'd never questioned it as he'd always been under the impression Tim was part of a happy family. Gibbs knew he could get along well with his little sister whom he adored. They'd all seen this protective streak Tim had displayed when Sarah had been falsely accused of murder.

Admiral McGee released Tim's arm as if he'd been burned. He stepped back; appalled.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about, son."

"Enough!" Tim bellowed, but one look at his boss caused him to sigh, a blush spreading across his features.

He continued more calmly, lowering his voice.

"We have a case to solve and I suggest we have this conversation at some more opportune moment. You're hiding something and I intend to get to the bottom of this. However, I have more pressing matters to attend to, so, if you don't mind, I'd rather get back and get some real work done."

Tim got up from his chair and looked at the Director for permission to leave. Vance gave an almost imperceptible nod and the Special Agent left.


	8. Chapter 8: You Seek Him Here, You Seek H

**This chapter doesn't feature the team, but I thought it a good idea to give you little bits of Tom's life to show some similarities with Tim's life. Not so much as in how they were both raised but more regarding their characters. **

**Let me know if this works.  
><strong>

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 8<span>: You Seek Him Here, You Seek Him There...**

"Well, that was a somewhat unexpected turn of events, I daresay." The hitherto silent Secretary of the Navy, Clayton Jarvis deadpanned, letting his gaze travel over the others.

The Admiral threw him a withering glance which was mirrored by Gibbs,whereas Vance kept a neutral countenance, which wasn't surprising since the man had a reputation of having elevated this to an art form.

"What?" Jarvis asked with feigned surprise?

Gibbs chose to ignore him, turning instead to Vance. "That all for now? I'd like to join my agent and get some work done. Besides, we have a missing Lieutenant Commander. Admiral McGee, please remain available for further questions. We will look into the matter of the break-in."

As Gibbs turned on his heels to stalk out, he wasn't sure about the flash of...anxiety on the Admiral's face. Fear? Hurt? Hope? He was sure to find out what skeletons the McGee clan were holding in the closet.

"I hope your boy doesn't screw up!" The SecNav tossed at his back as a parting shot.

- -.-. -. . .

When Lieutenant Commander McGee woke up next, he was feeling rather disoriented and confused. Where was he?

He sat up in bed to look around at the strange location.

Yes. Strange. Since he last remembered he was on board the HMS Devon. So, where was he now? Obviously on land. He tried to pick up on the sounds surrounding him. The smell... Disinfectants and other hospital... Yes! That was it! Hospital!

By bits and pieces, he started to remember. Still, he should be on board his ship! What was he thinking? He had a job to do. He was the XO of a man o' war and he had a responsibility.

"Must get back to the Devon," he mumbled.

He shivered. He hurt... His head, mostly, but he hurt all over his body.

Tom pulled out his intravenous access line and winced. Letting the line fall from his fingers, he swung his legs over the side and just sat there, his bare legs dangling, hands in his lap.

Looking at himself , he grimaced and brought a shaky left hand up to fumble at the hospital gown. That, he scowled, would have to come off, and his eyes searched the room for his uniform.

Clothes.

Surely he'd find them in the closet.

He put his weight on his feet as he held his breath and blinked. So far, so good.

One step...and another.

A sudden spell of dizziness hit him and he barely managed to lean against the wall next to the door.

Let's take it a little slower to start with, then.

Slower? When he was feeling too restless and anxious to get back to his ship? He snorted and carefully opened the door, peeking down the corridor to both sides. There was someone at the nursing station but that person seemed too preoccupied to take any notice of an eloping patient.

Good.

He took a deep breath which brought on a wince, and awkwardly crossed the corridor to a door which lead to the stairway. Not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, it was out of question to take the elevator now. If he went down to the basement, he was sure to find himself some clothing before he could venture outside.

Treading carefully on his bare feet and holding onto the hand rail, he started his way down the stairs at a snail pace, pausing now and then to catch his breath. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so tired. Or, wait a minute! He did! Crossing the Atlantic from Portsmouth, he'd fallen quite ill. Of course he'd kept going for as long as he could...with the result he'd worked himself into such a pickle by exacerbating his cold which had developed into a bout of bronchitis! Coughing his lungs out! He was still not fully recovered and Doc hadn't let go any opportunity to remind him he was lucky he hadn't caught a pneumonia!

The clang of a door banging at an upper level made him freeze. He shivered and felt light headed.

Hurried steps echoed off the bare concrete walls and down the empty staircase, till the unknown person jumped the last two to one of the floors and soon another door was heard closing.

He let out the breath he'd unconsciously been holding and resumed his descent. He was annoyed that every little sound freaked him out and soon was in a sweat.

Lowering himself on the stairs to take a rest, he leaned his painful head against the cool metal of the rail. God! He was feeling so under the weather!

With great effort, he pulled himself up again.

Bit by bit, memories were coming back to him. With a start so violent it made him giddy enough to seek support against the wall, he remembered this visitor in his hospital room staring back at him as a perfect reflection of himself. His double.

Pushing himself off the wall to continue down the stairs, he thought back to the attack.

To Tom it was evident there was a reason behind the attack, though it beat him what that was. And now he had met the other...McGee, he was wondering if it hadn't been a mistake of sorts? What if not him, but that NCIS Agent had been the true target? Wouldn't he be in danger, too?

It didn't seem so clever anymore to go back to his ship. Surely his assailants would lie in wait for him to show up?

No. He couldn't go back there. Not yet.

Oh, if only he could get in touch with Yago. Between them, they might figure out where he could go in order to keep a low profile.

Finally, he had reached the bottom and pulled open the heavy door to the lowest level of the hospital.

His double would need to be warned, too.

Thinking of Agent McGee...Timothy McGee... What if...? Suppose... In his tender years, he'd wanted to have a little brother. He often felt so alone, having few friends. Sometimes, he didn't mind at all...to be alone. Other times, though...

Then his dad returned from an assignment in the Gaza and proudly announced a young Palestinian boy would become part of their family. Young Tom, much to his own amazement, had felt jealousy for the first time in his life. This boy - this intruder would receive all the loving care and attention, pushing him back to second place.

Tom also well remembered the day when Akil joined the McGee family and he'd felt his former resentment give way to compassion upon seeing the delicate and obviously traumatized youth. He'd been shaken by the haunted look in eyes too big for the unhealthy pale and emaciated face. A face looking too old for a child. A child that still shied from any sudden movement our sound.

From that moment on, Tom had taken it upon himself to look after the poor boy who was still suffering from the terrible injuries that were still painfully and obviously there to be observed by all.

At first, Akil had been wary of those white strangers. Soon, he'd found them to be kind people who only wanted to help him.

Slowly the nightmares had beaten a retreat, too. He wasn't only helped by his foster parents quiet and patient support, but also by Tom who'd sit and read from comic books rather animatedly, waving his arms this way and that, and jumping on the bed in full re-enactment mode.

They'd become inseparable... They'd become brothers.

And now... What if he truly had a brother? A real brother; flesh and blood? It all felt so surreal...incredible, but... Just looking at that man! Everything about him was a near perfect reflection of himself.

He shuddered.

It was a bit creepy, too. Like Agent McGee was a clone of himself. Imagine more of those. Science fiction become reality!

Tom walked down the basement hall way and tried the first door he came across.

Locked.

On to the next.

Locked, too.

Dash it!

He sighed and didn't hold much hope for the next one.

Turning the doorknob, he was surprised to feel the door opening without resistance. Stepping inside the enormous room, he was instantly met by the oppressive heat and the smell of cleaning chemicals. Closing the door behind him, he took a look around what obviously was an enormous laundry area.

Tom breathed out a small sigh.

Great! A laundry room, but no clothes to be seen at a first glance. All he could see were piles of bed linen and towels. A partition separated the space where soiled laundry was sorted from the rest of the room. Some of it lay bloody and wet in the colored and tagged containers, still waiting to be handled. Some of them were labeled with the bio hazard symbol.

Great. How comforting.

He swallowed and sank to the floor rather dejectedly.

How was he going to get away? He was sure they wouldn't let him go this readily and it wasn't just because of his injuries.

The loud echo of a door clanging shut penetrated all other ambient noise; the constant humming from the power plant hidden somewhere in this maze of corridors and hallways, the huge washing machine and dryer were in action...

It made him jump up nervously and he nearly let out a cry when a jab of pain ran through his body.

Footsteps approached, then voices as they became more distinct with the shortening distance...then receded again as they passed by the door of the room he'd let himself in. Maintenance personnel, surely.

Tom flitted his eyes once more through the room and sighed once he'd ascertained himself there was nothing useful to be found...unless he got dressed in a pair of sheets! Now, _that_ would make a sight.

Despite his non-too-stellar condition, the thought brought on a smile on his pale and bruise mottled face.

Shaking himself, albeit painfully, he moved his tiring feet towards the door to let himself out again...and continue his quest for something more decent to wear than the ridiculous hospital gown.

Again the loud echo of a door falling shut. The hospital's employees again? No. A single pair of footsteps, this time, and something else. He felt the little hairs on his arms raise in anticipation of building fear as an irrational thought struck him.

What if they were here, already?

He turned around. The lightheadedness making him stumble at the sudden movement. His eyes were frantically seeking a spot to hide, finding it behind a pile of towels in the far corner, beside the huge dryer. Quickly moving over, he could judge by the scent they were freshly washed and waiting to be folded. _Thank God for small mercies_, he thought as he gingerly tucked himself in the fluffy towels.

The footsteps halted by the door and Tom felt rivulets of sweat trickle down his spine making him shiver. It wasn't just the combination of the heat and the fear which made him sweat. He knew he was running a mild fever, but it wasn't even that either. It was the inability to do something...the fact of being powerless, to be defenceless.

Tom shifted uncomfortably at the seeming lack of fresh air. Laundry freshness wasn't necessarily...fresh. His throat felt tight. His chest was feeling just as constricted.

Closing his eyes, he moaned softly. _What had he gotten himself into?_

As the door opened, he quickly stifled the moan and held his breath, involuntarily clutching at a fistful of towels.

He was close to passing out.

"_What a way to go_," he thought with disappointment, "_and without even the tiniest little fight!_"

Then there was the sound of something being rolled into the room...and a metalic click.


End file.
